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A PIECE OF BREAD
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Bronco was working at the desk when the Japanese came in; getting the papers in order, now and then looking over in the corner where Eucher was cleaning his gun endlessly. The man was nuts all right. There was no doubt about it. The fixation Eucher had on that shotgun was positively abnormal. Still, such men had their uses: they respected what obsessed them and used it well. Let him be nuts then. That wasn't Bronco's problem.
Bronco felt considerably better. The Thatcher business was almost finished and with that, the last roadblock would be cleared. He would get this railroad done on time and he'd do it well. The trouble with the Thatchers was that they didn't understand the primary obligation of the frontier, which was to get things done. Leave the frontier to people like Thatcher and there would have been no America. It was unfortunate that the man would have to be dealt with in this way but Thatcher just wasn't reasonable. Bronco had tried everything else before coming to the reluctant conclusion that there was just one solution. Having made that decision he now only felt a vast sense of relief. Thatcher was as good as gone. In the camp that Bronco ran an order was tantamount to its execution. Done. Done and done. He could focus now on what was meaningful, which was the final plan for excavation, and concentrate upon that, that is to say, Eucher's incessant gun cleaning. Nuts. The man was insane. So was Thatcher, of course. But Thatcher's insanity was unmanageable because it verged towards inaction.
A tent flap parted and a young Japanese stood there, caught between great fear and the desire to enter. "What the hell is this?" Eucher said and stood, holding the pistol as if the Japanese had caught him in some obscene act, then leveled the pistol at the Japanese who seemed to dissolve in terror.
"Cut it out, Eucher," Bronco said and with a gesture waved the man back to his seat. It'd have been easy enough to have let Eucher shoot him---what the hell, every Jap was just another Jap and this man was in the act of violating their quarters----but Bronco had always been proud of his instincts, and his instincts told him that the Jap was worth seeing. That was all: you had to trust your instincts. They had made him an administrator, hadn't they? He could listen to a Jap if he wanted. "Come in," he said to the man.
Slowly the Japanese entered. His eyes flickered from Bronco to Eucher to some food, the remains of dinner that was on a table in the corner. The Japanese seemed fascinated by a plate of cold chicken. He seemed to have forgotten his original intention, caught as he was by the food. Bronco for some reason let him look at it. He had something the Japanese wanted. All right then. "Yes," he said, "what is it?"
Reluctantly, the Japanese looked at him. "I am Kazuo," he said almost inaudibly. "I..."
"I know who he is," Eucher said. "He's on a gang with Thatcher's man. Yoshihiro, is it?" He looked at Bronco. "I know all of these people," he said.
"All right, Kazuo," Bronco said. He leaned back in the chair. "What is it?"
"I wanted to talk to you," the Japanese said. His eyes were back on the chicken. "I had some information...."
"Information?"
"I would not call it information. Not exactly. But there is something which I think you should know and..."
The Japanese paused. He seemed to be utterly caught somewhere between indecision and fascination with the food. "These people don't like to talk," Eucher said to Bronco, "It must be something pretty important to bring you in here, eh, Kazuo?"
"It is just," Kazuo said and then paused again, finally went on as Bronco watched him, "that I am so hungry, that the conditions here...."
"Take something," Bronco said suddenly, coming to a decision. He motioned towards the table. "Go on," he said, pointing at the chicken, and the bread. "We're all finished. It's yours, whatever you want of it."
The Japanese hesitated. Then he sprang to the table, seized a chicken leg, and began almost desperately to eat. His chin quivered. Eucher laughed.
"Take your time," Bronco said, "there's plenty of time. Finish what you want and then you can talk to us."
Eucher laughed again. He was back to pistol-cleaning, apparently at peace. He looked at Bronco. "It's something," he said, "what a piece of bread means to them, isn't it?"
Bronco said nothing. He looked at the Japanese, measuring him. After a while, Eucher saw that he would get no response and became fully absorbed in the shotgun once again.
Bronco waited the Japanese out. There was plenty of time.
He had a feeling he was going to find out something interesting.177Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvPi5jCBvpq
